


I'm Not Sorry I Met You; I'm Not Sorry It's Over

by hazelwho



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelwho/pseuds/hazelwho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stella reflects on life, love, and the law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Sorry I Met You; I'm Not Sorry It's Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skieswideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/gifts).



> Dear Skieswideopen, I had such fun writing your prompt! I hope you have a lovely holiday, and I hope this puts a smile on your face.
> 
> This story wouldn't be half of what it is without andeincascade. She's simply the best.

When I was 12, I walked down this street, turned this corner, opened this door, stepped into a bank, and changed my life. They were having a promotion; putting twenty-five dollars into a savings account for any kid that had five bucks to open one. Just as it was finally my turn, this man pulled out a gun and yelled for everyone to get down on the ground. His name was Marcus Ellery and he had robbed a string of banks all across the Midwest in the '70s. I know he had a gun, but I can't remember if he pointed it at me. I know he grabbed me at one point, and I know I got away, but most of it is a blur. I do remember this overwhelming rage that came over me that he was getting away with it. That he had probably done it before, that he would probably do it again, and that there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Before the bank, whenever I mentioned that I might want to go in to law, my parents would joke, _Well, she sure can argue; may as well make a career of it!_ After the bank, when people asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I stopped saying, "A teacher or a doctor or an actress or a lawyer" and started saying, "I want to prosecute criminals for the state of Illinois".

I found my calling that day at the bank. I also met Ray there. He ended up in law enforcement as well, so I think maybe that day changed his life too. We never talked about that day, but we talked every day after that one. We married a decade later, when he was walking a beat and I was starting law school.

People wondered why I married a cop. My parents were mostly resigned to it at that point, but I could see it on the faces of everyone who traveled in their circle. _Did you hear about Roger and Evelyn's daughter? She married some policeman!_ Ray wasn't just "some policeman", and to tell the truth I still didn't see him that way - Chicago Cop wasn't an entrenched part of his identity yet. I married the kid from the bank, my best friend of 10 years. Ray was my dance partner with the sweaty palms and light feet, the gangly kid with braces and glasses who was vice president of the chess club. That he happened to grow up to be a motorcycle riding, sharp-shooting cop and I grew up to be a suit-wearing, hard-assed prosecutor was irrelevant. 

No one wondered why we divorced.

No one put on that same politely confused expression they had when they found out we were married and asked why we divorced. I wish they had been more surprised, because Ray is a great guy. When we were 13, Ray told me I was cooler than Pinky Tuscadero before he kissed me for the first time. He took ballroom dancing with me for six years, spending his weekends doing competitive foxtrots instead of rebuilding engines with his dad and brother. I know he caught a lot of flack for that, but Ray acted like there was nothing in the world he'd rather be doing. I was always envious of the way Ray could love like that – he just jumped right in the deep end like nothing could possibly go wrong, because he had decided that this was right. When I got into Northwestern and had to move up to Evanston to live on campus, I was afraid it would be the end of us, but Ray just said he was proud of me and bought me a poster of Kim Deal for my dorm room.

Ray supported me during law school too. He would come home from walking his beat and we would curl up on a second-hand couch in our tiny first apartment and he would quiz me out of my law books. He mispronounced all the Latin words, but he smiled so sweetly when I corrected him. _You're the smart one_ , he'd say, _I'm just pretty_. Ray never once tried to make me into something soft or stupid. Ray knew exactly who I was, and he loved all my sharp edges.

Ray used to tell the story of my first day at the state's attorney's office every chance he got. _Tell the story_ , Ray would say, and then he would tell it himself. _Stella's first day on the job, she's got all these brand new case files in this cardboard box_ \- it was actually office supplies the secretary had thrown in a cardboard box for me - _and she's lugging it over to her desk when some asshole_ \- this would be the head of the narcotics bureau - _backed up into her, knocking over box onto the floor, papers spilling everywhere_ \- it was a stapler, a desk calendar, and some pens - _and the guy turns around and says, "'Scuse me, babycakes" and winks at her_ \- this part is completely true - _and Stell just winks right back at him and says, "No problem, sugar tits"!_ Despite the warm, soft look Ray got whenever he told that story, it was not, in fact, my finest moment at the state's attorney's office. But I always loved that Ray loved me for it.

On the rare occasion that someone asks why Ray and I divorced, I always say something vague like, "we grew apart". Ray and I grew up together, discovered who we were as people while in each other's company, and made a life together. We just stopped working after a while. I don't really know what happened, or when, but at some point things that had never mattered started to become important. We stopped talking like we used to, and I grew to resent Ray's undercover assignments. Ray kept bringing up having kids. And then one day I found myself absolutely _hating_ him for the way he loaded the dishwasher. That was the day I decided to end it, because I couldn't stand feeling that way about Ray, and I couldn't stand the thought that he might feel that way about me.

Ray didn't hate me. He didn't understand why I did what I did, but he never hated me. For a long time, he was convinced he would never love anyone else.

Part of me worries for Ray. People will gossip and speculate and wonder - _Have you heard about Barbara and Damien's son? He's moved to Canada with some Mountie!_ It won't be easy for them, but Ray always seems to end up doing things the hard way. I know that once Ray decides on a course, no power on earth can sway him from it. The letter that arrived this morning certainly seems to indicate he's made his choice. Ray danced around a bit instead of coming right out and giving his reason for staying, but we've known each other most of our lives and I can always read between his lines. I've been sitting here for an hour now, trying to come up with a reply. Something to let him know that I know, that I understand, that I wish them well.

There are two letters in front of me, both abandoned in frustration. The first is too serious ( _I've known you 25 years, Ray, and I will always love you no matter what..._ ) - and the second is too flip, too wry ( _I always knew you had a thing for strong, stubborn, proud people!_ ). Neither is right. He doesn't need my permission or my blessing, just as I never needed his. But I know how hard it was for him to write me about this, and I want to acknowledge that and let him know I'm happy for him. I've always been blunt. I can put together a hell of an argument, but I'm no good at subtlety. Ray was better at balancing the things that need to be said and the ones best left unspoken. I close my eyes and allow myself one more memory before blowing out a deep breath and starting again.

_Dear Ray,  
A partnership is like a marriage…_

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a Stars song.


End file.
